One Day We'll Dance
by Kishiro Kitsune
Summary: England's plan to get America drunk and probe him for information finally works out, though things still don't go according to plan. Part of 'The Rising Generation' series. Mpreg. EnglandxAmerica. Mentioned: RussiaxCanada, GermanyxItaly,
1. The Bar

**One Day We'll Dance**

Summary: England's plan to get America drunk and probe him for information finally works out, though things still don't go according to plan. Part of 'The Rising Generation' series. Mpreg. EnglandxAmerica. Mentioned: RussiaxCanada, GermanyxItaly, RomanoxSpain, and various others.

Takes place 3 years after 'Card Games'.

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Part 1: The Bar

America cried tears of laughter as he half slid, half fell off his bar stood, one hand gripping the sleeve of England's shirt. "Oh man, c'mon Eng-Artie. Now you've gotta dance with me! You can't not after that story!"

England rolled his eyes, determined to not budge from his seat. "You're drunk and your grammar is atrocious. Sit _down_, you fool. You can barely stand."

Still laughing, America tried to prove he wasn't drunk by letting go of England's sleeve and trying to stand on one leg. Unfortunately for him, it didn't quite work and he ended up falling over right onto England, nearly upsetting the older nation from his seat.

"Alfred!" The Briton gripped the bar to keep both of them from falling onto the floor. A blush rose to his face when he realized America had one of his strong arms around his waist and the other thrown over his shoulder. And how could he ignore how the younger nation's warm breath was puffing across his ear and cheek? For a moment, he enjoyed the sensation of being close to his ex-colony before he came to his senses and pushed him away. "G-get off, you git! And sit down!"

Looking mildly disappointed, America extracted himself from England and clumsily sat down, ordering another beer as he did so. "So, what should we drink to, Artie?" He slurred.

"It's _Arthur_," corrected England.

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, I know!" He grabbed his fresh beer and lifted it up. "A toast! To, uh, Mattie not having a second kid with that Russian bastard!"

England frowned and refused to pick up his glass of scotch. For the first time in their days of going out to bars after meetings, he'd been nursing the same glass all evening rather than his usual number. "I am _not _drinking to that. Matthew was crushed when he found out they couldn't have another." He reached out and forced America to lower his bottle. "And you will not drink to that either. I happen to recall a certain American who was devastated to learn he wouldn't be the uncle to a little girl."

America's good cheer vanished as he lowered his gaze to the table. His eyes misted over as he nodded. "Y-yeah… You're right." He remained silent for a few minutes, mindlessly peeling the label on his bottle. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think I'll ever have kids?"

Shocked, England looked at the younger nation. He shivered when his green eyes met America's saddened sky blue eyes, but couldn't bring himself to look away. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the other man with that expression. Had America ever looked like that? It seemed as though he were always cheerful.

No. There was one time. Back when England thought for sure he was going to die. World War II wasn't a fond memory for any country and he was no exception. He could still feel the echoes of excruciating pain from the bombing of his land whenever he thought back to that time. (Plus there was that horrible failure of an 'ultimate weapon', which he still loathed thinking about.)

And just when he was about to give up, America was suddenly there at his bedside, pleading for him not to die. He'd thought it was his last chance to tell his ally how he really felt about him, but just as he was about to tell him he finally lost consciousness thanks to his pain. He dimly remembered America panicking for a moment before making some absurd joke that had him springing back to consciousness in anger and disbelief.

He became aware that America was still looking to him for an answer. He finally broke eye contact and looked away while clearing his throat. "I suppose. So long as you don't intend to have fifty of them."

America laughed, though it wasn't anywhere near his usual confident laugh. It was weak, almost unsure. "Dude, no way I'm having fifty kids. The world couldn't handle fifty of me running around."

Surprised for the second time that evening, England couldn't help but look back over at America. Had the nation just made a joke about _himself_? That was almost unheard of. Usually America was too busy making jokes about other nations and proclaiming himself as a hero.

Something wasn't right.

"Ame-Alfred," England hastily corrected. He mentally berated himself for his near slip-up. "Are you feeling well?"

"Of course!" America replied. "Might be a little drunk…" He trailed off into silence for a moment before he shook his head and smiled. "Dude, have you even finished one? C'mon, don't make me drink alone. Oh yeah! Our toast! Lets see… How about to Ger-Ludwig and Feli's second kid? I think Gilbert said they're having another girl."

Though he wasn't convinced that everything was right in the world of America, England picked up his glass of scotch and held it up. Grinning, America clinked his bottle against the Briton's glass and then took a few gulps of his beer while his companion sipped at his own drink.

"So," America haphazardly threw an arm around England and pulled the shorter man closer. "Think you'll ever have kids, Artie?"

England tensed up. "Kids? N-no. I've had a bloody horrible record raising young nations. If I try again it'll only give Francis one more thing to tease me about." He tried to push America away, suddenly feeling smothered by his attention. He would never admit to anyone but himself just how much he loved the American's attention, but at that moment all he wanted to do was go home and sleep and ignore their entire conversation about children.

America refused to budge, pulling England closer if anything. "I dunno. I think you did a good job with me and Mattie. Not that I'm gonna start calling you 'dad' or anything. That'd be totally weird, dude."

"_Father! Father, look what I made!"_

England grasped his glass and quickly threw back the last gulp of scotch, wincing as it burned its way down his throat. Memories he would rather not remember began to resurface as he closed his eyes and leaned against America, who blinked in surprise and looked down at him.

"Arthur?"

"_I'm going back to mom. I don't want to live with you anymore."_

England shakily took a breath. That day. He never wanted to remember that day. That feeling of failure when yet another colony left him before he was ready to let go. The only day he hated more than that, the day he thought he'd erased from his memory, was several months before the birth of the colony. (Though, undoubtedly, America's revolution left a far sharper pain in his heart.)

"_England, I-I'm going to have a baby."_

"_What? How? That shouldn't be possible!"_

"_I don't know, aru!"_

"…thur? Arthur? _England_!"

England let out the air in his legs in one breath, staring at America with wide eyes. The young nation stared back with worry in his sky blue eyes, lips parted in preparation to call his name again.

"Christ, Arthur," whispered America. "Are you okay? Your face went completely white! If you really don't wanna talk about kids you should've said something. Didn't think you'd be someone who didn't want kids, to tell the truth."

England continued to lean against America, too exhausted to try and move. He tried to tell himself that it wasn't because he found the younger nation comforting in presence alone. "It's not that I don't want another kid…" He murmured.

America's grip weakened as he pulled away from the Briton. He frowned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "England, what do you mean 'another kid'."

England quickly pulled away from him, cursing in his mind. He knew it was a bad idea to drink. That was why he tried so hard to not drink like he usually did. He felt like such a lightweight. He muttered that he was going back to the hotel, leaving America sitting there, wide-eyed, on the barstool.

After a few seconds he jumped up, tossing some money on the table (and feeling very thankful they were in his country for their meeting) and rushing after the shorter man. "England! England, wait! Damn it!" He stumbled over the doorway, practically running into the door before he shoved it open and ran to catch up. "England!" Summoning his last burst of energy, he caught up to the Briton, roughly grabbing his arm and pulling him back against him. "Stop! Just stop!"

"Unhand me!" England yelled, trying to break free. "Unhand me this instant, America!"

Instead of giving in to his demands, America rested his hands on England's shoulders, putting most of his weight on the blond. "Well, I would, but I'm kinda havin' a hard time walking. Guess I drank a little too much tonight, huh?" He laughed, trying to clear the air of any tension. "Today must be opposite day! Usually I'm the one carrying you home. Good thing I'm not passed out, or you would've had to call for help!"

England briefly considered shoving America away anyway and leaving him there on the sidewalk. However, just as soon as the thought crossed his mind, he shoved it away. He would never do that to the American, no matter how annoying or obnoxious he was being.

"I suppose it would be ungentlemanly if I didn't help you get home," he said with as much dignity as he could muster at that moment. "Just get on my back. You'll have both of us falling to the ground if you continue trying to walk."

"No way, dude. I'll crush you!"

England bristled. "Do you honestly believe me to be that weak? Get on before I leave you here!"

Blinking in surprise, America shrugged. "Okay, dude. Don't say I didn't warn you!"

It didn't take long for England to discover just how awkward carrying America was going to be. His weight wasn't the problem. As a nation, England was much stronger than an ordinary human, though his strength wasn't anywhere near America's. (Very few nations boast of having physical strength like America. Russia and Germany were the only two he could think of off the top of his head.)

The problem wasn't America's height either. Though the younger man was 2 centimeters taller, it wasn't enough to cause a problem.

What was a problem, was that America didn't know how to stay still.

"Watch your feet!" England barked as America squirmed around in his back. "Can't you sit still for even a few seconds!"

America chuckled a little. "Sorry, England. Didn't mean to crush your London tower."

England's face turned red as he struggled to not start screaming in the middle of the street. "Shut up, you childish ninny!"

The drunken blond laughed in response, but stopped moving around. For a moment he was silent, so silent that England wondered if he'd fallen asleep. And then America sighed. "England, if I ask you about your kid, are you gonna drop me?"

England frowned.

What if he did tell America? What would his ex-colony think? Would he even remember it in the morning? And more importantly, was England ready to talk about that particular piece of his past?

"England?" America poked his cheek. "You alive?"

"Of course I am!" England snapped, wishing he could smack away the American's hand. Unfortunately, both of his hands were helping support the taller man's weight. "And why do you want to know about my kid anyway?"

"Ah ha! So you _do _have a kid!"

"_I will drop you on the sidewalk," _threatened England.

"Okay, okay! Jeez, dude. I'm just curious, y'know. You're always so secretive about your past. Seems like I only find out stuff about you when you and France are fighting. That's why I like listening to you two," America admitted. "It'd be nice if I could hear something from you for once. Unless you'd rather I go ask France."

"No!" England quickly said. "No… France doesn't know about this. And I don't want him to find out. America…" He hesitated and then shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it. It doesn't matter anymore. He's with his mother and is much happier than when he was with me. There's nothing to talk about."

"Okay." And just like that, America dropped the subject.

* * *

"Blast," England hissed as he forced open the door to America's bedroom. He wasn't too surprised to find a pile of the younger man's stuff cluttering up his room, making it difficult to navigate. Fortunately, his bed seemed to be clear of anything. "I cannot believe this idiot fell asleep."

America mumbled something as his head lolled to one side, a trail of drool making its way down his chin.

England frowned as he carefully walked across the room, where he none-too-gently deposited America on the bed. "You're home. Wake up and get changed so you don't wrinkle your clothes."

America opened his eyes, only to close them immediately afterwards with a hiss of pain. "Oh damn. Turn out the light."

"Don't be a baby," England responded.

"Whatever. I'll just toss this stuff in the wash tomorrow." Before England could protest, America crawled beneath his blankets, still in his day clothes. He pulled the sheets up around his neck, his eyes still tightly shut. "Is the light out yet?"

"If I turn it off, will you take off those clothes?"

America cracked open one eye and grinned. "Why England, if you wanted to see me naked, you should've said so," he joked. To his glee, England's face promptly turned a shade of bright red. "I'm _kidding_, old man. Jeez, and France keeps going on about passing on his title of pervert to you. I don't know what he's talking about. You're such a prude."

"I-I am not! Just because I would prefer you remaining clothed while in my company doesn't mean that I'm a prude, America!" England retorted. He huffed and looked away from the younger man. "Why am I even bothering talking to you? You're drunk! Just go to sleep and I'll bring you up a glass of water."

America closed his eyes as England walked away, clicking off the light on his way out, and settled down under his blankets for a nice long night of sleep. His breathing quickly evened out as he relaxed and soon he was fast asleep.

The Briton returned a few minutes later, a glass of water in hand. Rather than turning the bedroom light back on, and potentially waking up the snoozing American, he used the light from the hall to illuminate the hazardous path to the bed. After stubbing his toe twice and kicking away two shirts and a pair of boxers, he made it to America. He set the glass down on the bedside table and was turning to leave when he noticed the other blond was still wearing his glasses.

"You fool," he whispered fondly, a small smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes I wonder how you've managed to survive for so long." He sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the other nation for a moment with whimsical green eyes. "Seeing you like this…It's like looking at your younger self again. So peaceful. Except for these." He reached out and began lifting away the glasses, so caught up in what he was doing that he didn't notice the sky blue eyes watching his every move.

"Careful," America said suddenly. "That's Texas."

England flinched in surprise, his eyes widening. The glasses slipped from his fingers, settling awkwardly on America's face. "I-I thought you were asleep! Have you been awake this whole time?"

"Hmn…" America made a noncommittal sound. "You can take them off if you want. Just be careful with them."

Frowning, England tried to figure out what the American was planning. The last time someone (read: France) tried to touch his glasses, he panicked and ran away as fast as he could. England had later discovered him hiding in one of the janitor's closets of the conference building. For America to let him touch his glasses, he must have been really drunk or planning something stupid. _'He could barely walk earlier. And he did drink a lot tonight. He __**must**__ be completely wasted if he's letting me do this.'_

England reached out and began slowly removing America's glasses, searching for any sign that the man might react adversely.

America didn't so much as twitch. He just laid there, staring back at England with his calm, sky blue eyes. He didn't look at all afraid. There wasn't a hint of weariness. No fear. Just calm blue. Relief. _Trust._

England's breath caught in his throat. _'He trusts me… He__trusts __**me**__.' _His heart began pounding in his ears as he broke his gaze to look at the glasses in his hands. To look at Texas. One of America's beloved fifty states. If he wanted, he could snap it in half. He could throw it across the room and watch it shatter against the wall, if he threw it hard enough. He could destroy Texas.

'_No.' _As gently as possible, he set Texas next to the glass of water. His hands should as he withdrew them to his lap. He couldn't look at America. Not after that realization.

"You're not drunk, are you."

America laughed. "Nah. Takes more than a few beers to get me wasted, England. Sure took you long enough to figure that out."

"I'm such a fool…" The Briton slumped his shoulders, leaning forward in dismay. He should have known. He'd been too hopeful that he'd finally succeeded in getting America drunk. That hope had blinded him and led to his downfall.

The covers shifted as America sat up and moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed like England. "You're not," he said firmly, all joking cast out of his voice. "England, you're not a fool. You're the only one to see past this. And you stayed with me. Everyone else calls a taxi and then drags me to my couch and leaves." He fell silent for a moment, glancing at the shorter man hopefully. "I-I'm sorry," he said quickly, the two words blending together. "For, uh, tricking you. But I really liked talking to you tonight. I know you only said a lot of things 'cause you thought I wouldn't remember, you know, on account of me being drunk, but-"

"Shut up," England muttered. With a heavy sigh, he let himself lean to his left, right against America. "You shouldn't plot such elaborate schemes. If you'd like to talk, just tell me. Git."

America grinned down at him, sneakily moving one arm around England, waiting for the perfect chance. "It was kind of fun though. Acting drunk. I even got you to carry me! You haven't done that in a couple hundred years, huh?"

"It's not something I plan on doing again," warned England. "You move around far too much."

"I had to get comfortable!"

"I almost dropped you five times because of your squirming!"

"But you didn't."

England's next remark died on his lips as America's soft-spoken statement reached his ears. It was hard to keep arguing when it was clear the younger man didn't intend to fight back. That was part of why he fought with the American so often. No matter how stupid, the two could argue back and forth without truly getting angry with one another. It was habit. (France, however, was another matter entirely.)

"No, I didn't," England agreed. "You're surprisingly light, considering how many hamburgers you eat in a day."

"It's not my fault they're so good," America said with a laugh. "But I've cut back on them lately, you know. I figured it'd be a good idea. My people are trying to be more health-conscious lately."

"They're failing."

"Hey, I said _trying,_ not succeeding."

England couldn't help but chuckle. "I suppose all countries have food-related problems in some way or another. But enough of that. Even if you aren't drunk, you should still get some sleep. It's almost two."

America glanced uninterestedly at the clock. "It's still early. Besides, there's something I wanna do."

"What-_America!"_ England yelped in surprise as the taller nation pulled him into his lap, grinning all the while. "Bloody hell! What was that for?"

"I felt like it," replied America. "And this makes it easier for me to kiss you."

"I-_what?_ This had better not be your idea of a joke." England narrowed his eyes, daring him to laugh. To his amazement, America looked unsure, almost nervous. His gaze softened as he reached up and cupped the taller man's cheek. "Don't make me regret this," he whispered as he leaned up and caressed America's lips with his own.

After a moment of frozen disbelief, America eagerly returned the kiss. The first time England's tongue brushed against his mouth, his did nothing. The second time, he gave in, parting his lips to let the older man in. He fought with England for dominance at first but then let him take full control, making quiet sounds of encouragement all the while.

Eventually the two parted, their breathing erratic. America was grinning, almost beside himself with happiness. England was a big more reserved with his glee, with a faint pink hue across his cheeks and a smile much softer than the American's grin.

"You're going to sleep in here, right?" America asked eagerly.

England regarded him for a moment. "On one condition: change out of those clothes and put on proper pyjamas."

America laughed and kissed England's cheek. "Sure, sure. I think I have some you can borrow. I accidentally shrunk a few things the last time I did laundry."

England rolled his eyes and slid out of his lap. "I'm not that much smaller than you."

Neither of them said anything more about the subject. England didn't even complain when America handed him the accidentally-shrunken clothes before gathering up his own and beginning to strip right there in the room. England turned even more pink and looked away, hesitating a few seconds before giving in and removing his own clothes, putting on the pajamas as quickly as possible.

America crawled into the bed first, snuggling down under the blankets in a child-like manner that England found endearing. He soon joined him, pulling up the covers in a much more dignified manner. Once comfortable, he closed his eyes with a sigh of contentment.

"Hey, England?" America rolled on his side to face the older nation. "You'll dance with me one day, right?"

England opened his eyes to meet America's, wondering where the question came from. For a moment, he stared into mischievous orbs of blue, and then his lips curved into a smirk. "Oh yes," he said with a teasing edge to his voice. "One day, we will dance."

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End Chapter

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This started out as a one-shot, but the second I began writing a "several months" later scenario, it grew too big for that. So, because there's still some things I need to cover (why does everything have to be so complicated with these two?), I decided it'd be best if I do this over the course of a few chapters. It shouldn't be too many. Maybe three.

**Next Chapter: **

"_Papa! Uncle's here!"_

"_Mikhail, I've told you not to answer the door! What if it was a stranger?"_

"_Not a stranger. It's uncle! He's here for pancakes!"_


	2. The Party

**One Day We'll Dance**

_Part 2: Party_

*Several Months Later*

America loved parties. Especially birthday parties, even when they weren't his own. (Though he was one of the few who still celebrated his birthday with vigor. The other nations were usually a bit more relaxed about theirs.) However, when it came to the birthday's of the children of nations, he wasn't the only one enthusiastic about throwing a party.

"America!" Hungary exclaimed, appearing out of nowhere. "Perfect! Can you go help Prussia with the streamers? I have a feeling he's going to mess them up if he does it on his own. Thanks!" She patted his back and then was running off to go take care of something else, her brown hair billowing behind her.

The blond stood there for a moment, wondering what had just happened, and then shrugged and went to find Prussia.

It wasn't hard to find him. The albino was balanced precariously on a stepladder with a staple gun in one hand and a roll of red crepe paper in the other. France and Spain were standing on the ground, laughing at the spectacle he made and offering up advice that would only get him in more trouble. America stood back for a moment and watched them, his eyes glittering with amusement.

"Looks like you need the help of a hero!" He announced as he walked over to them.

Prussia swayed on the stepladder but didn't fall. "Someone as awesome as me doesn't need help!"

"I don't know about that, _mi amigo, _you look like you're having some trouble," Spain remarked.

Prussia glared at him and then stood up straight to staple the end of the crepe paper to a tree. It took him several tries to get it to stay, mostly because the ladder kept moving around. "Kesesesesese! Uneven ground is no match for me!"

France and Spain burst into laughter as Prussia tumbled off the ladder immediately after that proclamation. The albino cursed as he crawled out from under the ladder, leaving behind the crepe paper and staple gun.

"Fuck it! Hungary can put up this shit herself!" Prussia stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at his friends as they continued to laugh. The potency of his glare was rendered ineffective as Gilbird fluttered down from the tree to perch in his white hair.

America stifled his laughter and took pity on the ex-nation, stepping forward to give him a hand. "C'mon, you don't really want her over here. She'll just guilt you into putting them up anyway." He easily picked up the stepladder with one hand and set it up right, finding a more even patch of ground so it wouldn't teeter back and forth again. He then retrieved the staple gun and crepe paper and held them out for Prussia to take. "Dude, someone as awesome as you can't be beaten by something like a ladder, right?"

Prussia stared at him for a moment and then smirked, reaching out for the objects. "Che! Of course not! Lets get this shit up!"

Spain and France watched the two for a few minutes, but quickly grew bored with how easily they were putting up the decorations. Spain was the first to wander off in search of his darling Romano. France stayed behind for a moment, his eyes focused solely on America.

"So, America, I hear you've been spending a lot of time with _Angleterre_ lately," he remarked.

"Yup," grunted the American as he stapled another piece into place. He wiped his brow and turned his head to look at France, grinning. "Jealous?"

France rolled his eyes. "_Non_. If I wanted England's attention, I could easily get it." He snapped his fingers, a smirk forming on his face. "Just like _that._ And then you'd be the jealous one, _oui?_"

"Nope. 'Cause he'd just be yelling at you," America replied. He turned back to his work and tossed the roll of red crepe paper back to Prussia, who easily caught it and began twisting it around before he stapled it into place. "_I _can talk to him without getting yelled at."

"But was he not yelling when the two of you arrived?" France asked without skipping a beat. "I seem to recall Germany needing to step in the separate the two of you."

America shrugged and then caught the roll as Prussia tossed it back. "That was an argument, which is completely different from him just yelling at me. Kind of a stupid fight…stupid scones…" He looked contemplative as he twisted the roll of crepe paper. "Hey France, Canada isn't your and England's lovechild, is he?"

France stared at him for a moment before chuckling. "_Non, non. _Of course not. Is that what you were fighting about? Silly American."

"It's not stupid." Scowling, America harshly stapled the paper into place, missing the first time and putting a large dent into the tree. He did it correctly the second time. "Whenever I mention kids, England gets all defensive and either starts yelling or tries to change the subject. The only reason he came to Dafne's birthday party is because Italy nearly started crying when he said he might not be able to make it."

"_Angleterre_ doesn't have the best luck with young countries," France said, sounding somewhat amused. "There's you, who led a revolution against him."

"But-"

France cut off whatever he was going to say. "There's Canada, who requested his independence. Seychelles was next. Hong Kong left him to return to China. Sealand _hates _him." His voice softened, any trace of amusement gone. "I'm sure he's convinced himself that he's a horrible parent. It will take something great to get him to see otherwise."

"But I didn't leave him because he was a bad parent!" America exclaimed. He forgot all about hanging decorations and turned around to face France. "My people didn't like the laws he was passing! I loved living with England. I did…"

"Then why fight him?" Prussia spoke up.

America fidgeted with the paper, surprisingly silent. He murmured something and then turned around, not wanting to look at France or the albino across from him.

"_Pardon_?"

"Nothing," America said. He abruptly tore off the roll of crepe paper and hopped down the ladder. "Prussia, lets get the balloons up next. Then we'll be done here."

France stepped forward and grabbed America's arm as he reached for the bag of party balloons. "America, why fight him?"

"To prove I was strong," snapped the younger man, yanking his arm from the Frenchman's grip. His blazing blue eyes met France's surprised ones as words continued to tumble from his mouth. "To prove I could take care of myself! He kept treating me like a child. Like I couldn't take care of myself or dress myself properly. I hated it. I hated being treated like a little kid. I hated being seen as just a little brother. I-…" His voice faltered as he looked away from France. He shook his head and snatched up the bag of balloons, ripping it open as he stepped away from the small table the supplies were resting on. He picked out two green ones and two white ones, before walking over and handing the bag to Prussia, who set about finding the yellow and black balloons.

France followed America back to the other ladder, determined to get more information out of him. For once, it wasn't for blackmail purposes. He'd seen the looks the American and his favorite Englishman gave one another in meetings. How could he ignore that? He represented the country of love, and though he wasn't having a great amount of luck in the area (The other countries were beginning to ignore his daily flirtations, which was something he was planning on rectifying. _Soon_.) he couldn't ignore a friend in need. Even if that friend was a clueless American whose actions he rarely agreed with.

"If you can't admit how you feel to me, how do you expect to be able to tell England?" France asked.

"France, you're the last person I'd go to for love advice," America muttered.

Prussia sniggered.

"But I am the country of love!" France passionately exclaimed.

"Then why'd Seychelles dump you for Greece?" Prussia asked cheekily.

France glared at him. "She didn't dump me. It was a mutual decision."

"Sure it was."

"It was!"

America ignored the two in favor of blowing up one of the balloons. His experience with throwing parties paid off as he quickly got it to the proper size and tied it off without it escaping his grasp to go flying through the air. He moved on to the second one, eyeing France and Prussia as they continued to argue. Their fight entertained him as he blew up the remaining three balloons and stapled them to the tree to cover up the ends of the crepe paper.

"America, if you want advice on love, go to Spain!" Prussia shouted over France's yelling. "He's an idiot when it comes to himself, but he is the country of passion!" He yelped as France hit him.

America took that as his opportunity to escape.

'_I don't need advice on love, I just wanna find out about England's kid! And if France and Prussia don't know, then Spain won't either. But who would?'_

_.  
_

* * *

.

He wasn't sure how it happened, but sometime between arriving and the actual start of the party, England found himself in charge of four hyperactive children. Why Hungary thought giving him the task was a good idea, he was still trying to figure out.

A giggling girl with light blonde hair grabbed his fingers, the single curl in her hair bouncing slightly. Her green dress fluttered around her ankles as she tried to tug him along and get him to play with her.

A second girl, one with curly dark hair and a vivid pink carnation pinned on the right side of her head, appeared and grabbed his other hand. She stuck her tongue out at a boy with hair a few shades darker than her own and a curl on his right side, enraging him. He began shouting in broken Italian, waving his hands around wildly, looking just like a younger version of his father.

England waited a moment, certain he was about to be bombarded by a forth child. Nothing came.

Startled, he looked around in search of the missing boy. It couldn't be too hard to find a boy with pale, silvery-blond hair wearing a red-and-white sweater, could it?

"Mikhail?" He called, his heartbeat picking up pace when he didn't see the child. He glanced down to the blonde girl. "Dafne, did you see where Mikhail went?"

She shook her head. "Nope!"

A sense of panic rose in England's chest. No! He couldn't lose his head! He had to stay calm and think rationally. Surely the Russo-Canadian couldn't have gotten far. He was only three-years-old!

Russia was going to kill him.

No, worse. _Canada_ was going to kill him.

He looked to the dark-haired girl next. "Carmen, do you know?"

"Don't know," she replied. "Maybe _fratello _knows."

"Why would I know? I wasn't watching that jerk!"

England sighed, briefly wondering how Spain and Romano could put up with the boy on a daily basis. Then again, he was just like Romano, so Spain was probably immune to it. "Fiore, I want you to stay here and watch after the girls, okay? I'm going to go find Mikhail."

"No need, aru."

England flinched at the condescending tone in the voice. He cautiously looked over to see China standing there holding the hand of Mikhail, who had found a helium-filled balloon during his journey. Finland and Sweden were also there, and were quietly talking to Sealand, who was holding their small white dog. In Finland's arms was a snoozing child who couldn't have been more than a year old.

"But I don't want to stay with jerk-England!"

'_Please don't leave him here. He's old enough to go help!'_

He nearly groaned when Sweden patted the faux-country on the head and then wrapped one arm around Finland to maneuver him away from the children's area. Sealand stared after them for a moment and then turned around and glared at England, as if he were the reason his parents left him behind.

Deciding it was best to leave Sealand to his own devices, England slipped out of the girls' grasps to walk over to China. "Thanks for finding him."

China smiled pleasantly, though something about it felt fake to England. "I see why Hungary sent me over here to help. You've always been hopeless with children, aru."

England flinched, but managed to cover it up with a strangled laugh. "Yes, you're right! But who am I to demand the orders of a lady?"

"How gentlemanly of you," China said as he released Mikhail's hand. He gave the boy a gentle nudge, receiving a bright smile in response.

"Thanks for the balloon, Uncle China!" He waited until his uncle smiled back before grinning and running off to join the other three children and show off his shiny new balloon.

Fiore scoffed, saying something about how he didn't want a stupid balloon, while Dafne begged to hold it and Carmen wondered aloud if she could get a pink one. Sealand soon joined them, introducing himself as "Peter" and offering to tie a loop in the string so no one would accidentally lose it, like he'd done with his own balloons on numerous occasions.

"So, I hear you're dating America now," China remarked.

England looked at him wonderingly. If he didn't know better, he'd say the Asian country was genuinely curious. However, there was a slightly bitter tone to his voice that he'd become an expert at picking up on over the years. "Where'd you hear that?" He asked, keeping his voice even.

"Canada." China unflinchingly met his eyes. "England, this had better not be like before."

The Englishman's temper automatically flared up. "It's not. And it's none of your business what my relationship with America is!"

China narrowed his eyes. "You claim it's not like last time, but you're doing the _same damn thing_. Why not let people know you're together? That would keep France from harassing you at every turn."

"I doubt that," England muttered. "The frog will never give up. He'll just invent new ways to annoy me. And don't change the subject!" His voice quickly rose to a yell. He paused and took a breath, trying to calm down. The last thing he wanted was for people to hear him arguing with China. It would destroy the image of being a gentlemen he tried so desperately to portray. "Everyone doesn't need to know. It's only been a few months."

"You've said that before," China said, a hard edge to his voice that England had only heard during times of war. "And look where it got us. We fought a war. You ripped apart my homeland." He clenched his fists. "You stole away _my _son."

England flinched. "China-"

"Listen!" Snapped the Asian man, sounding hopelessly and utterly defeated. The anger had left his voice when he spoke next, sadness the only lingering emotion. "Don't let this end the same way."

England stared at him for a moment. After all the times they'd been left in the same room together, never had the other nation spoken to him like that. And never once had they brought up the past. What had changed? Was it him dating America? Or was it something going on in the Chinese man's life?

"China, I'm sorry," he blurted out. "I-I really do regret what I did. What we did. I-I'm sorry."

China smiled sadly. "I wouldn't change it. History is everything to us. Without our history, who are we?" He turned around to leave, calling over his shoulder: "We're countries, England. All we can do is keep moving forward, aru. And just so you know…" He paused a moment but didn't look back at the Briton. "You're not the only one who is sorry."

.

* * *

.

It was amazing, really, how quickly he got distracted from his mission. And all it took was coming across his brother surrounded by the Asian nations, minus China.

When he first spotted them, Vietnam and Taiwan were toying with his brother's hair, most likely complimenting him on how pretty it was when he grew it out. Thailand was standing near the two girls, laughing about something. Japan was standing out of the way, watching his relatives with an expression on his face that told the world he didn't really understand what was going on. And then there was South Korea, who seemed torn between bothering Canada and harassing an Asian man who America wasn't familiar with.

"Hello, America-san," greeted Japan.

"Hey," America replied with a grin. "So, are the girls talking about how girly Canada looks with his hair like that? 'cause I've been listening to England complain about how he looks like France for the past few days. It's kind of annoying."

Japan chuckled at his friend's misfortune, his lips curving up into a small smile. "I'm sure he'll have more to complain about after today. I heard Germany-san mention how Hungary-san has him watching the kids."

America grimaced when he heard that. "Oh man. Why'd she go and do that? There's a ton of other countries running around. Why didn't you try to stop her?"

"I thought about it."

America sighed in disappointment. He had hoped the party would get England to loosen up a little and have fun, but if he was put in charge of the children first thing, he was going to be dealing with an extremely moody England for the remainder of the day. "I guess no one says no to Hungary. So, who's the guy talking to Korea?"

Japan glanced over to the Korean man, quickly noting who his current victim was. "That's Hong Kong. China's son."

America nodded in understanding. "Okay, cool. China's son." He paused a moment, blinking his big blue eyes in confusion as his brain translated the words. "Wait, since when does China have a son?"

Japan didn't answer the question.

Frowning and even more confused than before, America looked over to the Chinese man, already able to see the similarities between him and China. However, there was something distinctly _not _China. Something familiar. If he could only figure out what it was.

Just when he thought he might know what it was, something ran into his legs and stayed there. He looked down and immediately forgot all about China's son when he saw his nephew's big purple eyes. He laughed and swept the boy into his arms. "You get bigger every time I see you!"

"Uncle!" Mikhail squealed, giggling as America tickled his sides.

"Mikhail?" Canada escaped from the girls to hover by his brother's side, frowning at his son. "Why are you out here? Where's England?"

Mikhail quieted down and stopped struggling, curling his fingers into America's red-white-and-blue shirt. For a moment he didn't say anything but then he smiled at his papa and said: "England was boring, so I ran away!"

America did his best not to laugh at the statement. However, his resolve broke the moment he looked down at Mikhail and saw the proud expression on the boy's face.

"Mikhail!" A voice shouted out over the din of everyone talking. England soon came into view, holding the hand of a little blonde girl.

America's chuckling abruptly ended when he saw the panicked expression on the other nation's face. Guilt over laughing about his nephew's statement washed over him as the image of England with a hurt expression flashed in his mind's eye. America knew that if he ever heard Mikhail say that, he'd feel crushed.

He handed the boy over to Canada and then stepped away from the group of Asian countries to flag down his… Boyfriend? Lover? He wasn't even sure how to refer to England when it came to their relationship. Were they even dating? Sure, they went out for dinner sometimes or to movies and America had managed to drag the Briton to an amusement park one day. Not to mention all the times they'd made out on the couch. And he no longer had to sleep in the guest bedroom when he visited England.

America shook his head, wanting to clear his mind of those thoughts. It really wasn't the right time to contemplate the nature of their relationship.

As he opened his mouth to call out to England, he realized the Briton wasn't alone. Right behind him was China, holding the hands of Spain and Romano's twins while Sealand walked beside them on his own, still holding the small white puppy. He watched as China caught up to England and said something to him, his expression cross.

"I hope they don't fight again," Canada murmured.

Distracted from his original goal, America turned to look at his brother. "Again?"

Canada nodded. "It was a while ago…back before Mikhail started talking. China was over helping me out with chores and taking care of Mikhail when England dropped by. I think he needed to talk to Russia about something. I don't really remember what they were arguing about… I remember England came in to see Mikhail before he left, but I was folding laundry and China was in the room singing him to sleep. I heard yelling and ran in to see what was going on. Then Russia came downstairs. He kicked them out. Then he refused to talk to China for about a week. It took him two months to talk to England without insulting him."

America nodded. He remembered that. Meetings were very interesting for those two months.

Watching the two fight as they walked towards them, America suddenly thought of Hong Kong. Like he thought, there was a great similarity between him and China. But there was something different. Something…

His gaze slid over to England. At first he found himself focused on the older nation's lips, or more specifically the things he did with them when they were alone.

'_Not the time!' _He quickly reminded himself, forcing himself to look away. When he refocused his eyes, he found himself staring at England's eyebrows. Seconds ticked by slowly as his brain processed a thought that he wasn't sure he could really believe. _'…It couldn't be…'_

"…_Hong Kong left him to return to China…" _France's words from earlier played over in his head, followed by a much more welcome voice.

"_He's with his mother and is much happier than when he was with me." _It'd been months since England told him that, but he could still remember what he said, word-for-word.

From that moment on, even as Dafne's third birthday party kicked into full swing, America found his mind drifting back to one thought whenever he looked at one of the three.

'_Hong Kong…who is he?'_

_.  
_

* * *

End Chapter

* * *

.

**Mikhail **Irvine Williams - Russia and Canada's son. 3-years-old. Wavy, silvery-blond hair and light purple eyes.

**Dafne** Juliane Beilschmidt - Germany and Italy's daughter. She turned 3-years-old as of this chapter. Straight blonde hair with Italy's curl, amber-brown eyes.

**Fiore **Leonardo Carriedo - Romano and Spain's son. Is a little over 2 1/2 years old. Dark brown hair with Romano's curl, green eyes. Carmen's twin brother.

**Carmen **Esmerelda Carriedo - Romano and Spain's daughter. Is a little over 2 1/2 years old. Long, curly brown hair, green eyes. Fiore's twin sister.

*Note: As mentioned in the first chapter, Italy is pregnant with his and Germany's second child, who is also a little girl.

Also, **Finland and Sweden's baby** is a little boy named Tuomas. He has blond hair and Sweden's turquiose-blue eyes.

A little different from the last chapter. It also went through a few revisions. The first time I had it take place in Canada and Russia's hotel room, but I kept writing Canada way too out of character. So then I decided to lighten up the chapter a little more and have it be Dafne's birthday party.

I still got covered what I wanted/needed to, which was England confronting China and sort of making amends, and America continuing to try and figure out who England's son is. I also wanted to introduce the other kids.

Next time: America confronts England about his son.

Questions? Comments? I'll be happy to answer them!


	3. Home

**One Day We'll Dance**

Part 3: Home

America was running out of ideas.

First, none of the Asian countries would tell him anything about Hong Kong, other than him being China's son. China himself completely brushed off all questions about the Special Administration Region, excusing himself from America's presence as quickly as possible. And when he tried to talk to Hong Kong, there was always someone else around to interrupt them. (The last time they were interrupted, it was by Iceland and South Korea and things had gotten so awkward that America wasn't even sure if he made an excuse to leave before he practically ran out of the room.)

Second, talking about children around England had become near impossible since Dafne's birthday party.

Just the other day he mentioned Canada wanting them to baby-sit Mikhail for the day and England started yelling about how America never asked if he wanted to do anything and instead just did whatever he wanted. Then he stomped out of the house. Several hours later, America got a call from a nearby bar and had to go retrieve the drunken nation.

The following day, England spend the entire morning ignoring him. When he finally spoke again, it was to say that he was returning home and for America to not follow him.

Like he was really going to do what England said.

But first, he needed some advice.

"So, you think Hong Kong is England's son?" Lithuania asked cautiously.

America nodded. "Yeah! I mean, it makes sense, right? All I can get out of Japan is how Hong Kong is China's son and none of them will tell me who the mother is. I wouldn't've thought of this before, I mean, we didn't know guy countries can give birth or anything."

Lithuania frowned, thinking things over before he said anything. "Maybe… That would explain why neither of them were too surprised about Canada being able to get pregnant. I think they were more shocked about Russia being the father. I know I was." He laughed. "I always thought it'd be Belarus having Russia's kid! She's rather… tenacious. It's cute though."

"Er, sure. If you say so," America said with a shrug.

Poland peeked into the room, his green eyes narrowed and directed at Lithuania, who squeaked in surprise. "Who's cute?" He asked, a warning edge to his voice.

"Y-you are!" Lithuania quickly said. "Very cute! E-especially in your new dress!"

Poland beamed and spun around, enjoying the feel of the cotton-candy pink dress as it swished around his bare legs. "Thanks, Liet!"

Lithuania breathed a sigh of relief when the blond vanished back in the kitchen. "Okay, so say Hong Kong really is England and China's son. How is that going to help your relationship with England? It seems to me that he'd try to avoid you even more than he is now. He might even break up with you."

"I won't let him run away. I'll tie him up if I have to!" America exclaimed.

"I-I don't think that's going to help, America."

"Well at least then he'd sit still long enough to listen to me! If he stops yelling." America sighed and slumped back against his couch. "Okay, so tying him up wouldn't work. Maybe he'll listen if I sit on him and threaten to not get up until he talks to me. What do you think, Lithuania?"

"That would be better than tying him up…"

Poland made his reappearance, loudly munching on a pretzel stick and carrying the entire tub of pretzels. He sat down on the couch beside America and stared at him with unnerving green eyes.

"Poland, what-"

The cross-dressing blond held up a hand, silencing Lithuania. He quickly finished his pretzel stick and then spoke. "Okay, so I, like, totally know what you should do. But first you have to tell me, like, why you want to know about Hong Kong."

America hesitated.

"Tell me or I'll make Warsaw your capital!" Poland cheerfully threatened.

Lithuania groaned softly, but didn't try to reprimand his boyfriend. He wouldn't listen anyway.

America looked away from Poland, for once thinking his words over carefully. He had no problem running his mouth at meetings or while hanging out at Canada's house, but when it came to England and how he felt about the man, things got a lot more complicated. With all of the trouble they'd been having, even if he weren't there to hear him talk, he still wanted to get across how he was feeling without making a fool of himself or saying the wrong thing.

"Remember right after Mikhail was born? Canada and Russia had that fight and Russia went home to sulk for about a week before he came back. I went up to stay with Canada for that week. Y'know, to help him out. I spent most of my time there taking care of Mikhail. It was kind of hard at first. I didn't know what I was doing." He paused to laugh, a small smile remaining on his face. "But after that first day or so, it was kind of fun. And it got better when Canada started coming out of his room. Maybe that's when it started…

"Even when Russia returned, I'd still go up and help Canada out when I had free time. I was there when Mikhail started to walk. And I was the first person he called 'uncle'!" America grinned at the memory. Then, slowly, he sobered up, his good cheer vanishing.

"I guess I got kind of jealous after a while. Don't get me wrong, I'm really happy for Canada! I mean, he's got a great kid and, sure Russia isn't the country I thought he'd end up with, but he makes my bro happy. It's just… I don't wanna only be an uncle."

Neither Poland nor Lithuania dared to say anything.

"It might be nice to be a dad," America said. "I think I'd like to have a girl. One with England's green eyes and my awesome hair. But… I mean, England's not really fond of kids. No, that's not right." He frowned, stopping to get his thoughts in order again. "I don't really know how to explain it. He's not scared of 'em. More like nervous. Like any little thing he does'll make them hate him. Which isn't true. Dafne and Carmen adore him. I wish I could understand why he thinks that…"

Lithuania quickly spoke up. "America, England has had rather unfortunate luck when it comes to young countries. Perhaps that's why he feels that way."

"Yeah, France said something similar," America said. "And then Prussia had to ask me that stupid question…"

"What question?" Poland asked.

"Just, y'know, about the revolution. I don't wanna talk about it."

Lithuania wasn't about to let him get away with not talking about what was possibly the most important detail to understanding England. "America, you invited me here to help you. If you won't talk about it, I won't be able to help you decide what to do. So either talk or we're going home."

"No!" America yelled in alarm. "Don't go! I'll talk. I, um, don't really know where to start."

"Why revolt?" Poland asked. "I know that, like, your people weren't really happy. That's obvious. But didn't you go out and fight with them?"

America flinched. "I-I did. And that's when England fought alongside his people too." He hesitated a moment, worrying his upper lip. He always tried so hard not to think of that period of time. It was the biggest reason he couldn't clean out his storage room. He had so many happy memories of those years with England, but any sign of that single horrible span of time and he had to get out of the room. "I don't think I really wanted to leave him back then… but there was so much going on. My people weren't happy. They started to revolt on their own. I just got all caught up in the whirlwind of emotion disrupting everyone. And…and I was kind of annoyed with him. Maybe angry. Tired of being treated like a little kid. Like a little brother. Maybe I was in love with him even back then. I dunno."

America tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. He avoiding looking at Poland or Lithuania, knowing he wouldn't be able to continue if he did. If he pretended like they weren't there, he could keep speaking.

"I remember one thing. I wanted to show him that I wasn't weak. That I could take care of myself. That I didn't need to be babied by him anymore. I never thought he'd leave me all alone afterwards… But my people were happy, so I tried not to let it bother me. I threw myself into other things. Manifest Destiny and all of that. Think I pissed off Spain a couple of times… And France. And Canada. Mexico too." He grinned and tapped his glasses. "He still hasn't forgiven me for the whole Texas thing."

Poland stood up, taking the jug of pretzels with him. "Well, this has been totes cool and all, but me and Liet need to, like, go now."

"Huh?" Lithuania and America chimed in unison.

America looked away from the ceiling, his sky blue eyes confused as he peered at the Polish man. "Whaddya mean? Aren't you staying for dinner?"

"Nope." Poland patted the jug. "I'm taking these. C'mon, Liet!" Too impatient to wait for Lithuania to get up by himself, he marched over and pulled his boyfriend to his feet. Then, rather than let go of him and head for the door, he dragged Lithuania along with him.

"Poland! What are you doing?"

"Bye, America~!" Poland happily called over his shoulder.

America stared at the two as they vanished into the hallway, Lithuania struggling the entire time. After a few minutes, he heard the front door open and then shut as the two went outside. "What the hell?" He muttered, unaware of anything other than how strange Poland was acting.

A weight settled beside him on the couch. The scent of freshly brewed tea reached his nose.

"I knew you weren't weak."

A shiver went down America's spine. "England," he whispered, looking over at his boyfriend.

The other country was sitting rigidly beside him, avoiding his gaze entirely. He held a china saucer in his lap and his other hand was curled around the matching cup. "The reason I left you here alone when I returned to my land was because I knew you were strong enough to survive. I knew you'd thrive and continue to grow even without me here to constantly guide you."

"So, you heard all of that, huh…"

"Indeed."

An awkward silence fell over them.

America fiddled with the long sleeves of his shirt, tugging at the cuffs and twisting the button around.

England continued to sit still, staring into the mesmerizing iridescence of his tea. Even as the hot liquid began to cool, he didn't drink it.

"Hong Kong is my son."

America flinched, startled by how soon England broke the silence.

"Odd, to say that again after so many years. Normally we deny any relation to one another. China certainly never speaks of it. And no other country knows that I am his father, or they didn't until you began to figure it out."

"I'm sor-"

"Perhaps you're not as clueless as I thought," England interrupted. "It's comforting to know I'm not in love with a complete imbecile."

"I'm not stupid!"

England rolled his eyes, finally looking over at the younger country, annoyance reflecting in green depths. "Belt up and listen to me, America. You've been bothering me for weeks about the events of my past. I suppose it's time I tell you."

For once in his life, America stayed quiet when England asked him to.

"China and I were never in love. It was a relationship born out of frustration and loneliness. Back then, we had no idea male countries have the ability to carry children and so we weren't exactly careful when it came to sex. So you can imagine my surprise when China gave me the news."

.

* * *

.

_China slowly approached the blond nation after a frustratingly unproductive meeting regarding trade between his country and England's. He seemed nervous about something, if the way he kept casting his golden brown eyes around the room was any indication. _

_England raised an eyebrow when the Asian man stopped in front of him._

"_England, I-I'm going to have a baby."_

_The European man's mind went blank at those words. Of all the things he expected to hear, that was the furthest from his mind. If anything, he expected to hear China ask him over for dinner or to announce they weren't going to see one another anymore._

"_What?" England's voice rose shrilly before he could get a proper grip on his emotions. "How? That shouldn't be possible!"_

"_I don't know, aru!" China sounded just as panicked as England felt. "What are we going to do?"_

_England stared at him for a few minutes, taking the time to get his thoughts in order and form a plan. "You'll have the baby. However, we tell no one of this, understood? Until it's born, we will meet and discuss what to do with the child. I suppose it all really depends on whether or not it is like us."_

_China frowned, but agreed with him._

_.  
_

_

* * *

_

.

"That was when we began fighting," England said. "The stress of having a child together and keeping it from all of the other nations began to wear away at our already thin patience. Not that China has much of that on a normal day. We couldn't agree on anything. And then it began influencing our political relationship. So many things went on during that period of time that when Hong Kong was finally born I had decided to take him under my wing and raise him as a colony of England. Unfortunately, China got custody of him for those first few years.

"When it was finally my turn… I'll admit that I was nervous. I wasn't sure what to expect. But when I saw him for the first time, I forgot all about being afraid. _I _had a son. And though he wasn't born out of love, I knew from that moment that I loved him."

England's eyes lost their intensity as he thought about the years he spent with his son. He began to relax, his back curving softly as he lowered his gaze to his tea cup. "He was a good kid. When he was young, I could tell he enjoyed living with me and learning English traditions. I even sent him to school for a time so he could socialize. I had hoped he could make friends there. For a while, things went as perfectly as I could have hoped."

.

* * *

.

"_Father! Father, look what I made!" A giggling boy with shaggy brown hair ran over to England, holding a roughly sewn pillow with a velvet 'A' on top. His golden-brown eyes shone happily as he showed his accomplishment to his father._

_England smiled as his looked at the pillow. "It's beautiful, Aubrey."_

"_It's for you!"_

"_For me?" England felt as though he could never feel happier than he did at that moment. His thoughtful son had made something for him with his own two hands. Tears of overwhelming happiness prickled at his eyes as he knelt down and hugged his son. "Thank you. I love it."_

"_Love you, father."_

_.  
_

_

* * *

_

.

"What happened?" America quietly asked.

The corners of England's mouth tugged up into a wry smile. "He grew up. He became a teenager. The tension between myself and China grew even worse. It amazes me today that I was able to keep Hong Kong happy for as long as I did. I suppose it's partly thanks to his people. However, my fury towards his mother bothered Hong Kong and so he made up his mind to go back."

America's eyes widened. It was unusual for a country to influence his people to make a choice like that. Normally, it was the people of a nation who held the greatest influence.

"So now you know. It didn't matter what I did. Each of my colonies eventually left me, one-by-one. My own son won't even talk to me anymore, aside from a terse greeting if I'm lucky. China and I are-well, we're talking civilly again, I suppose. If you consider him complaining about everything I do being civil."

America couldn't help but grin at the last sentence, knowing first hand that the complaining went both ways.

England caught the grin from the corner of his eye and scowled at the younger nation. "Wipe that look off of your face, America."

"Oh, c'mon England. You're finally talking to me!" America said, unable to keep his happiness from leaking into his voice. He leaned against England, resting his head on the man's shoulder while sneaking one arm around to settle comfortably around the Briton's waist. "It's nice to know this stuff. I mean, now I kind of get why you're all awkward around kids and stuff."

England wasn't ready to relax completely yet. "But you still want children."

"Yup."

"Then why be with me? You know I don't want children."

America sighed softly. "Because maybe one day I'll be able to show you you're not a bad dad. I'll wait for however long it takes."

"America…" England murmured, surprised. Lost for words, he kissed the younger country on the forehead, hoping it would be enough to convey how he felt.

America smiled and snuggled against his boyfriend. "I love you too, England."

.

* * *

End chapter

* * *

.

**Bonus Scenes:**

1)

"What made you come back here anyway?" America asked.

England scowled. "I'll have you know that I had every intention of going back home. Unfortunately, Poland spotted me once I arrived at the airport and insisted I accompany he and Lithuania back here. If I remember correctly, he gave the excuse of not knowing where you live."

America grinned and made a mental note to thank the two.

2)

Poland and Lithuania walked side-by-side through one of America's parks, having decided to spend the rest of their day taking a mini-vacation and enjoying the warm weather. Suddenly, the blond stopped walking.

"Poland, is something wrong?" Lithuania asked.

The cross-dressing man shook his head. "Liet, can we have kids?"

Lithuania blinked in surprise, his jaw going slack at the question. _Poland wants children...?_

"Don't stare at me like that! It's, like, weird!"

"Sorry!" Lithuania quickly apologized. "It's just, I never thought you'd want to have kids. Not that I don't want any! I do! E-especially if they're ours! I just didn't want to force you into-"

"Liet," Poland interrupted, threading their fingers together and pulling the brunet close. "You totally talk too much." And with that, he closed the distance between them and pressed his lips to Lithuania's.

3)

"What's this?"

Hong Kong glanced over at Iceland, who had barged into his room unannounced earlier that morning and refused to leave. His eyes widened when he saw the picture the pale-haired nation was holding. "G-give me that!" He ran over, intending to snatch it away and hide it. Or burn it. Whatever it took so long as no one _ever_ saw that he'd kept the photo.

Iceland placed one hand on Hong Kong's chest to hold him back and stretched out his other to hold the photo as far away from the Asian as possible. "No. I think it's cute."

Hong Kong blushed. "It's not! Give it back!"

Iceland nonchalantly glanced at the photo, which was of a younger, smiling Hong Kong and an England who was practically radiating with joy. "You were cute then."

"Iceland! Give it back!"

The Nordic smirked at being able to see actual emotion on his friends face. He was always so stoic. So composed. He wondered if he was the only one who got to see his emotional side.

South Korea bursting into the room with a cry of glee answered his question. Hong Kong schooled his expression to one of mild annoyance, his eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at his hyperactive "brother". Only the light blush remained behind.

Iceland quickly stuffed the photo into his pocket. It would remain their little secret.

.

* * *

**.**

**Notes:**

-_ "...__Manifest Destiny and all of that. Think I pissed off Spain a couple of times… And France. And Canada. Mexico too." _

Manifest Destiny - a belief in the 19th century that the US had the god-given right to expand across North America. (So America ended up pissing off every country who owned land in NA at that time. England should probably be mentioned in that list, since he had Canada at that time, not France. France still had land though; the Louisiana Territory, but he sold that to America early in the 1800s.)

America would have "thrown himself" into this a little over 20 years after the American Revolution.

- _"He still hasn't forgiven me for the whole Texas thing."_

Referring back to Mexico, mostly about the Battle of the Alamo.

- About Hong Kong's English name: I chose _Aubrey _mostly because it starts with an 'A' (which I figured fit since England's human name is Arthur and I like to believe he gave America the name 'Alfred'.) I chose _Xianliang _as his Chinese name.

In regards to Hong Kong and his return to China, it's a bit more complicated than the way England tells it.

-_Interesting note _(if Wikipedia hasn't completely failed me.): During the time America was busy with westward expansion, China and England were busy with the First Opium War (1839-42). (After which England gained Hong Kong as a colony.) Which means that for the world of 'The Rising Generation' it was shortly after America's revolution that England turned to China for comfort.

Anyone who likes history like I do, go look up Hong Kong. I learned some interesting things while double checking things for this chapter.

.

* * *

.

I'm working on a bonus chapter to complete this story! Since England and America have overcome their biggest obstacle at the moment, it'll be more lighthearted. And maybe it'll involve dancing. If I remember.

The 3 bonus scenes at the end of this chapter are my apology for taking so long to write this.


	4. Problems

**One Day We'll Dance**

_Chapter 4: Problems_

America stared down at his unbuttoned pants. He didn't understand it. He'd been careful with what he ate, sticking to the foods and boxed lunches Japan recommended for him. Sure he had the occasional unhealthy snack, but he made sure to exercise to make up for that.

Even back when he ate hamburgers every day of the week he didn't have a problem fitting into his pants.

"I'm getting fat," he told himself, not for the first time. "That's all." _It can't be anything else. _"I'll just have to exercise more. Cut back on snacks. Yeah. That'll fix everything."

He jumped in surprise when someone knocked on the bathroom door.

"America, hurry up or we'll be late for the party."

"H-hold on!" America called back, cursing mildly as he kicked off tugged off his pants. He stuffed it away in his duffle bag, fishing out a pair of pants he'd bought recently, just in case he hadn't lost any of his recently added weight. He pulled them on, easily pulling up the zipper and buttoning them up. He tried not to notice that they fit more snugly than when he'd tried them on in the store two weeks before.

After checking his appearance in the mirror, America kicked his bag to the side and opened the door. He grinned when he saw England standing there, fidgeting with his bowtie.

"Hey, sweetie," he greeted, kissing the shorter blond on the cheek.

Predictably, England's face reddened. "Don't call me that." He stepped back and eyed America up and down before nodding. "You clean up well for a Yankee."

"Thanks," America said, knowing it was the closest thing to a complement he was going to get. "You look good too."

England cleared his throat, his face darkening to a deeper red as he reached up to straighten America's tie. He toyed with it for a few minutes, and even after he fixed it he avoided looking at the younger nation's face. "Yes, well, I suppose you're ready. Perhaps this time it will stay around your neck and not on your head. I still don't understand how that happened."

"Got distracted taking it off or something," America said with a shrug. "Hey…" He gently ran one hand over England's chest, over his collar bone, and then along his neck to tilt his head up and look him in the eyes. "I love you."

"G-git," England stammered.

America's smile didn't fade in the least as he bent down slightly and pressed his lips against England's in a chaste kiss. "Alright. Let's get to that party!"

.

* * *

.

Canada raised an eyebrow as he watched his brother make himself a cheeseburger.

It wasn't one of the American's usual cheeseburgers, though it had started out that way. Hamburger, cooked on the stove with a slice of cheese placed on top. The bottom bun smeared with mustard. A few pieces of lettuce dropped on top of the cheese once the meat was finished cooking. Some ketchup and pickles. And then finally the top half of the bun.

But then America took a bite and claimed that it was missing something. And so off came the top bun so he could sprinkle seasoning over it.

It was still missing something.

Naturally, America tried a few more things, each one odder than the next.

"America, ice cream isn't going to fix it," Canada said as his brother moved for the freezer. He had to draw the line somewhere and clearly ice cream was it. Especially since it was _his _maple flavored ice cream, which America always made fun of him for.

America stopped and stared helplessly at Canada. "But my burger doesn't taste right! I don't know what it's missing! Something sweet maybe? See, ice cream _would _fix it!"

"What? No!" Canada sighed and ran a hand through his hair, thankful that Russia had taken Mikhail out to the park to play with kids. Hopefully the two would return without news of his son injuring someone again, accident or not. "Ice cream on a hamburger, America? That's just messed up!"

"I dunno. It sounds delicious to me."

"There are other sweet things you can put on… _that._" Canada pointed to the burger, unsure of what to call it anymore.

"Like what?" America asked.

Canada didn't have to think for long. In a matter of seconds, he was striding across the room and pulling a bottle from the pantry. "Like this!" He exclaimed, holding it out to his brother.

America carefully took it and stared at the bottle. "Maple syrup?"

"Just try it."

Shrugging, America twisted off the cap and poured some out, not stopping until it began dripping over the sides. The bottle was set to the side without a second thought and the bun replaced back on top of the burger concoction before America lifted it up and took a big bite. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before lowering the burger to stare at it.

Canada hoped there wasn't anything else America wanted to add to it.

"Canada…"

The tone the American was using only served to worry the Canadian.

"W-what?"

America stayed silent for a moment, still staring at the burger. Then, slowly, he looked over at Canada. "This stuff is totally genius, bro! Can I have the bottle? I think it'd make even England's scones taste great!"

Privately thinking that _nothing _could make England's scones taste better, even the greatness that was maple syrup, Canada agreed to America's request. After all, it was just one bottle. He had at least fifty more stashed around the house. Hopefully. Unless Prussia had found his secret hiding places during one of his break-ins.

America beamed at his brother. "Thanks!"

As his brother scarfed down the burger concoction, Canada began to notice something not right. Or rather, something different about the other blond. The longer he watched the American, the more he noticed and pieced together.

"America, have you gained weight?"

America paused in the process of licking his fingers clean. "Huh? Whaddya mean?" Panic flashed across his face. "Is it that noticeable? I've been trying to be careful!"

Canada doubted that.

"Seriously! This is the first burger I've had in over a month! I just figured that, you know, since I'm up here to hang with you and all, one wouldn't hurt anything. But don't tell Japan! I promised I'd stick to the diet he's been recommending for me," America said, sounding a little panicked. "I-is it not working? I don't get it! I've been working out and eating good food and sure I eat a pint of ice cream on some nights, but that shouldn't affect me this badly, right? I mean, I'm a little bigger than Japan so it's alright if I have an extra snack every now and then and I heard somewhere that it's better to eat when you first get hungry rather than wait until you're starving but I've been hungry a lot lately so sometimes I have to wait until I'm really hungry because otherwise I'd be eating every hour, y'know?"

Canada sat down at the kitchen table, waiting for his brother to finish rambling. He knew he wouldn't get a word in edgewise even if he tried to speak.

"I've even been trying not to eat snacks at night lately! I mean, it's kind of hard since I stay up until two most nights and it's always right about midnight that I start getting hungry again. But if I go to bed with my stomach growling England always kicks me out and tells me to go eat something so I don't keep him up all night. But by then I'm too tired to make anything so I just end up eating chips or crackers and one time I ate the rest of England's cereal and didn't tell him and he yelled at me in the morning when he found out it was all gone and then he made breakfast and I couldn't just tell him I didn't wanna eat it because then he'd be even angrier, so I ate whatever it was but he yelled at me anyway because I was still hungry afterwards and I guess he thought I was just pretending to eat it even though I really did eat it." America paused to take a breath at last.

Canada took a chance to jump in. "How long has this been going on?"

"And-huh?" America asked, looking at his brother in confusion. "Whaddya mean, bro?"

"How long have you been feeling hungry like this?" Canada elaborated. "A few weeks? A couple months?"

America shrugged. "A couple of months, I guess. Maybe two. Or three. I'm not really sure. Do you think I look fat? I noticed I'd gained some weight when we had that party the other month, but I didn't think I'd gained more since then…" He sighed and looked down at his stomach. "Maybe I was trying not to notice."

Canada hesitated, trying to figure out how he should word his next sentence. He had a feeling he knew what was going on, but America wasn't going to like it. And if what he'd heard from France and Russia was correct, England was going to like it even less.

"America… I don't think it's exactly fat you've gained."

"Uhh, bro, I don't think this is what muscle looks like."

"That's not what I meant!" Canada snapped. "Maybe you should sit down."

"Nah, I'm good. So whaddya think it is? I mean, it's gotta be fat," America laughed. "What else could it be?"

"I think you're pregnant."

America stumbled backwards, his sky blue eyes wide. "What? But that's crazy! I'm not! I can't be! Just because I've been eating more lately? I-it's probably just because I've been more active!"

Canada sighed. "America, you just ate the strangest burger I've ever seen you make."

"There was nothing wrong with my burger!"

"You tried to put mint chips on it! And then you poured maple syrup on there along with everything else and acted as if it's the greatest thing you've ever tasted!" Canada shouted. "_Merde! _I'm surprised you didn't add chocolate and then try to deep fry it!"

Rather than look affronted by the idea, America looked rather intrigued. "A deep fried chocolate burger… Oh man, that sounds _really_ good, bro. I'll have to try that when I get home."

Canada growled low in frustration and stood up, marching over to the chorded phone on the wall.

"Bro?"

Ignoring his brother's questioning tone, Canada picked up the phone and put it to his ear before he began dialing. He waited a few seconds before the person he was calling answered. "Russia? No, everything's fine. Mikhail hasn't hurt anyone, has he? … Okay, good. Actually, I was calling to ask you to stop by the store and get something before you come home. Could you get a couple different types of pregnancy tests?" His face fell at Russia's next few words and he turned his back to America so his quick-to-act brother wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. "N-no, it's not for me. Russia, you know we can't… W-we can't have another baby. They're for America." He listened for a few seconds. "Thanks, Russia. I love you."

America watched as Canada hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes before turning around to face him with a pasted-on smile.

"Russia's bringing home a few tests. He says Mikhail's about ready to leave anyway. He gets bored playing with human children. Something about them breaking too easily." He sighed. "I'm starting to think he's more Russian than Canadian." His smile broke as he hiccupped.

"Cana-"

Canada darted out of the room, moving so quickly America almost lost sight of him.

For once, America decided to move a little more slowly and give his brother some space before he went to find him. He washed his hands first, figuring it would be best to get the rest of the sticky maple syrup off of his fingers. He took his time finding a dishtowel to dry them off on and then set off to hunt down his brother.

America found him on the couch, curled up in a ball and clutching an oversized stuffed dog which most likely belonged to Mikhail. His heart ached when he noticed his brother shuddered with every sob that slipped by. Carefully, he sat down on the couch and pulled Canada against him, wrapping his arms around the other nation tightly.

Canada released the stuffed toy so he could cling to America instead.

"Hey, it'll be okay," America said softly. "So what if he ends up being one of Russia's cities or whatever. That doesn't make him any less Canadian."

"B-but what if he forgets me? I don't want him to forget me. I don't want to be invisible again. I couldn't take that."

America ran his hand through Canada's hair soothingly, avoiding going anywhere near the hair curl. "I don't think that's possible anymore. You've changed a lot since you started dating Russia. I haven't forgotten you since Mikhail was born. I don't think anyone has. Except for, you know, nations we don't see too often, but they don't count 'cause they don't know how awesome you are."

Canada couldn't help but smile at the statement, though it quickly faded.

"Bro, Mikhail could never forget you. You're his papa. Besides, sometimes I think Russia saw you years before you two got together. Unless he really was just staring at an empty chair." America frowned. "Kind of creepy, if you ask me. But hey, you love who you love, y'know? Damn, I forgot my point. Oh yeah! See, if he is a Russian city, there's no way he's gonna forget you because Russia never will. Besides, you've been finding ways to make yourself heard lately. You've been speaking up, bro. I'm proud of you!"

"Thanks," Canada whispered.

For a few minutes, the brothers sat in silence. Canada's breathing slowly evened out as tears stopped flowing and soon after, he pulled free from America's hold and sat back against the couch.

"It's not just about Mikhail…" Canada paused for a few long seconds. "You're lucky. Even though England doesn't want kids, the option is still there. You can have kids. But I… I can't. Not anymore." He looked over at his brother. "I really wanted her. I'd hoped Mikhail was going to be a girl, but he isn't. And when I got pregnant again and found out it was a little girl, I was so happy. Russia was too. But then…"

"Yeah," America said, knowing Canada didn't want to finish the sentence. It amazed him that the nation was willing to say anything about the loss of his second child. For once, he didn't pretend to not read the atmosphere. They needed a change of topic. Or at least a natural turn in the one before them. "So you really think I'm not fat?"

Canada chuckled, though it wasn't an entirely happy sound. "Sorry, I don't think you're fat. We'll find out whose right once Russia gets back."

Though part of America hoped his brother was wrong, an even bigger part prayed he was correct.

.

* * *

.

America paced back and forth in England's sitting room, wringing his hands. It'd been a week since his trip to visit Canada. It'd been a week since his brother forced him to see the truth. It'd been a week since he started avoiding England, unsure of how to break the news to him.

Somehow, Canada found out (America was going to assume that it had something to do with France) and threatened to get himself and Russia involved, so America decided it was in his best interest to talk to his boyfriend on his own.

That was why he was nervously pacing in the man's house, waiting for him to return from a meeting with his boss.

(Speaking of bosses, America had yet to tell his own about any of the recent developments or even that he was dating England. It was a rather awkward subject to bring up.)

With every minute that ticked by, America got more and more worried and began to seriously consider running back home to curl up under his blankets for another week.

He froze when he heard the doorknob on the front door rattle before the door itself squeaked open, allowing England to step over the threshold.

"…and I'm telling you, something hasn't been right with America lately. No, I don't know. I haven't seen the bloody git all week. In fact, I haven't seen him since he went to visit you, Canada. If anyone knows what is wrong with him, it would be you."

England walked past the sitting room with only a quick glance inside. Seconds later, he cursed and flipped his phone shut, doubling back to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"America? What are you doing here?"

"I-uh-we need to talk."

"Talk?" England repeated. Despair rose within him. He'd heard those words before. They were rarely followed by something pleasant. "Can't it wait until later, America? I've had a long day."

America shook his head. "No. C'mon, lets sit down. Please?"

England couldn't refuse that pleading voice, nor those big blue eyes. Before he knew it, he was walking across the room to the couch. To his surprise, the second he was settled comfortably on the couch, America sat down next to him as close as he could possibly get without sitting on his lap.

"What on earth is wrong?" England asked, puzzled by his boyfriend's behavior. "You've been avoiding me all week and now suddenly you can't wait to get close to me."

If possible, America curled around him even more as he dropped his head on England's shoulder. "Please don't be angry."

"Angry? Why would I be angry? Sure, I'm annoyed that you've clearly been avoiding me all week without so much as an explanation," England said. "I know you were home all those times I dropped by. If you're going to pretend you're away, don't turn out all of the lights when someone walks up to your house."

"Sorry."

England didn't at all like the somber mood the American was in. "Come now, America, tell me what's bothering you."

"I, um…"

England's mind automatically finished the sentence with what he felt was the worst case scenario.

_I broke your favorite china set._

_I'm breaking up with you._

_I don't want to see you again._

_I hate you._

"I'm pregnant."

England stared down at the younger nation in shock. Of all the things he thought he was going to hear, that wasn't even close. But still, those two simple words filled him with dread. He felt ill.

America held his breath, waiting for the yelling to begin. He could already feel the tension pulling even more tightly than before, buzzing around them like an angry swarm of bees. All he could do was wait.

England detangled himself from America in an instant and stood up, his heart thundering in his ears.

He had to leave.

He had to get away.

Quickly.

Before he did or said something he would regret.

America watched him leave without saying a word. The moment the Englishman was out of the room, he broke down into tears and curled up on the couch, unable to find the strength to leave.

.

* * *

.

England returned several hours later, after hunting down France to get advice. (Although the flirtatious blond could never keep his hands to himself and England had to constantly fight off advances, he _was _one of his oldest friends and sometimes gave decent advice.) He'd found his friend hanging out with Spain and Prussia, who overheard what was going on when he dragged France away from them to talk.

It was odd, to get scolded by _Spain,_ of all nations, for leaving America all alone in his house. Not because the Spaniard ever ran off on Romano (in fact, England was sure the Italian had the exact opposite problem), but because he was normally so oblivious to anything that didn't involve Romano, the twins, or his tomato plants.

Between France's completely unhelpful advice, Prussia's comments of how "completely un-awesome" he was being, and Spain's rambling, England finally had an idea of what he should do. Of what he should have done the second America told him.

He just hoped the younger nation was still at his house.

He checked the sitting room first.

There, stretched out on the couch with his hands resting on his stomach, was America, fast asleep.

England found his eyes drawn to the American's belly.

How had he not noticed? It seemed so obvious when he started to think about it. America had been complaining about gaining weight for over a month and whenever he tried cutting back on food, he complained about being hungry all the time. England hadn't paid much attention to the weight gain, figuring his lover was sneaking hamburgers. He also knew about the freezer raids America went on at night when he was craving ice cream.

_Cravings… now I understand why Canada told me about that obscene burger America made while visiting him. _

Gathering his courage, England walked across the room until he was standing in front of the couch. He carefully kneeled down on the floor, content with just watching his lover sleep for a few minutes.

America slumbered on, aware of England sitting just mere inches away.

England cautiously moved a little closer. He slowly inhaled and then exhaled, trying to stay calm and not panic and run away again. Shakily, he reached out and rested his hand on top of America's.

America mumbled something in his sleep, wiggling a little before he finally opened his eyes. "England?"

"Hey," the Briton softly whispered. "Can you forgive this old fool?"

"You're not angry?"

England shook his head. "No. I'm a little surprised, but not angry."

America sighed in relief. "I'm glad. I got scared when you ran out. Thought for sure you'd never talk to me again."

"Budge up, I want to sit down."

The American carefully sat up, making room for England. The second the older nation sat down, America maneuvered his way onto his lap and wrapped his arms around the man's neck.

"I love you, England."

_And I love you, America._ He wanted to say the words back. Wanted to make sure America knew just how much he cared for him. But the second he opened his mouth to speak it was like he lost all capability to speak. _I love you. I love you so much._

_.  
_

_

* * *

_

.

England was not panicking. Absolutely not. He was the mighty United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. He did not panic. Ever.

Unless, of course, America was involved. Over the course of the past month, he had been sent into a frenzy no less than eight times thanks to the American and his false contractions. (It was partly his own fault. England's love of reading had proven to be less than a good thing as he kept learning about everything that could go wrong with a pregnancy.) It'd gotten so bad that their doctor jokingly remarked that they live out the rest of the pregnancy in the hospital, rather than rush in twice a week.

England thought it was a great idea.

America did not.

And so, in order to make England chill out, America forced him to return to Europe for a few days and invited Canada, Mikhail, and (reluctantly) Russia to make their way down to stay with him.

Though he had a feeling that something was going to go wrong, England reluctantly left to take care of business at home. The feeling intensified the moment his plane touched down on British soil. His fairy friends buzzed around him in concern, also sensing that something was off.

Canada called him later that night, sounding frazzled enough that he kept breaking off into French. In the end, after asking the young country to repeat himself several times, England understood that they'd rushed America to the hospital after he complained about pain all day.

Thus began his rush to return to America.

He would _not _miss the birth of his child.

Not again.

After a frantic call to his boss, buying a plane ticket to get _back _to the United States, barely making it to the airport in time to catch his plane, the flight across the ocean, then being unable to land the plane due to complications (which were quickly resolved), then having a brief scare with airport security and nearly getting arrested, and hailing a cab and driving to the hospital (blissfully uneventful), he finally made it to the right part of the hospital.

The rest of his "family" was already there, though Canada was missing. Russia was sitting near Mikhail, who was happily coloring in his coloring book with a box of crayons. France was sitting a few chairs over, looking as composed as ever.

"You're late, _mon ami,_" France said the second he spotted the Briton.

England tactfully ignored him, for once not taking the bait. "Where's America? Is he alright?"

"_Alfred_ is fine," France stressed, trying to remind his old friend of the importance of using their human names in public. "Come sit. We shouldn't have much longer to wait."

England's heart sank. "Y-you mean I missed it? I _told _that git I shouldn't go back ! He never listens to me!"

"He wanted to wait. They tried a few things," France said. "But it seems your child has Alfred's impatience. Now sit and wait with us! Mathieu should be out anytime to tell us how things went."

Rather than sit down, England began to pace back and forth, muttering curses under his breath.

"Papa!"

There was a clatter as Mikhail jumped down from his chair, scattering crayons all over the floor and dropping his coloring book. He ran over to Canada, holding up his arms to be picked up, which his papa was happy to do.

"Uncle's okay, _da_?" Mikhail asked.

"_Oui_," Canada replied. "Everything's fine. The baby's a healthy seven pounds." He glanced over to England, who had ceased his pacing and was looking at him with hope in his bright green eyes. "Alfred sensed you the second you arrived in the building. The nurse will take you back to him." He nodded to a tiny nurse with short brown hair standing off to the side.

"I wanna go too, papa!"

"Not yet, Mikhail."

England followed the nurse back to the room but hesitated outside the door. Once he was sure he had a grip on his emotions and wouldn't start yelling at the American for sending him away, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Blue eyes instantly rose to meet green.

"Hey," America greeted. "Wanna come say hello?"

England's gaze dropped to the bundle of pink in his lover's arms.

_A girl. I have a daughter. Oh god, I'm a father._

England slowly made his way over to America without once taking his eyes off of his baby girl. He sat down on the side of the bed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch her. To make sure she was real.

He'd thought for sure he'd be cursed with another boy. Another boy who would grow up to hate him and eventually leave.

"She's beautiful," England whispered.

America beamed. "She is! And look, she has my hair! Though the doctor said it'll probably change as she gets older."

England looked a little more closely and saw what America meant. Her pale blonde hair was wavy rather than straight like his own. (Which was probably a good thing. He wouldn't wish his crazy hair on anyone.) "Have you named her?"

America shook his head. "Not yet. I was waiting for you. Though I did think of a few names."

Praying that it had nothing to do with food, England asked: "What are they?"

"Avalon."

A shiver ran down England's spine. "Avalon?" He repeated. "Where did you come up with that name?"

America blushed. "From those books you like. And I figured that since the human name you use is Arthur it'd kind of make sense. I didn't wanna name her Guinevere or Morgana though. I don't like those name. Avalon sounds cooler. And it starts with an 'A', just like our names!"

_Arthur, Alfred, and Avalon._

"I like it," England said. "What about her middle name?"

America shrugged. "I dunno. That was the only one I really liked. You pick a middle name."

England took a moment to study his daughter while going over a list of names in his mind. Unbidden, an image of his mother, the powerful Britannia passed before him. "Siofra," he whispered. "Avalon Siofra."

"Sounds kind of weird," America remarked.

"It was the name my mum used."

"Knock, knock, boys!" The nurse from before bustled into the room with a clipboard and a bright smile on her face. "Now that you're both here, we can pick out a name for this beautiful little girl! So, any ideas?"

"Avalon Siofra," America spoke up. "Those're her first and middle names."

England looked over at him, startled but pleased. He'd thought for sure they'd end up fighting over her name for at least the rest of the day. Maybe America was feeling tired after everything he'd been through.

"And last name?" asked the nurse.

"Kirkland."

"Jones."

The nurse stifled a giggle when the two glared at one another.

"Avalon Kirkland sounds much better than Avalon Jones," England began the argument.

"Nuh uh! Just look at her! She's a Jones!"

"Kirkland."

"Jones!"

"Um," said the nurse. "How about Kirkland-Jones, with a hyphen between the two."

For a moment, the two were quiet. Then America opened his mouth.

"Why not 'Jones-Kirkland'?"

The argument continued for some time after that.

.

* * *

.

"Look, Mikhail," Canada said, holding his son up to the glass. "See that little girl right there? That's your baby cousin."

Mikhail looked awed by the sight of her. "She's so little~! When she gets bigger, I can play with her, _da_?"

Canada nodded. "Of course. But that will take a while."

Mikhail hummed as he stared at her. "What's her name, papa?"

"Avalon Siofra Kirkland-Jones. The poor girl," Canada said, unable to keep a grin from forming. "Those two can never agree on anything. I'm pretty sure they're arguing over what toy to give her first right now."

Mikhail giggled. "Uncle America and Uncle England are silly."

"That they are," Canada agreed. "Very silly."

.

* * *

End Chapter

* * *

.

Originally, this was going to be a light, fluffy bonus chapter. However, by the time I got about halfway through the Canada and America scene, I started to realize just how important this is as an actual chapter. (Which is why it's now 'Chapter 4' instead of 'Bonus Chapter'.)

I'm still going to write a bonus chapter. There's a few scenes I want to write.


	5. Bonus Chapter

**One Day We'll Dance**

_Bonus Chapter_

England stared at the fluffy creature in his lover's arms. "America," he began slowly. "What is that?"

America happily petted the ball of fluff. "It's a bunny! I got him for Avalon."

"You got a rabbit for our _three month old._"

"Yup!"

England sighed, knowing there was no talking the blond out of it. "Fine. But you're taking care of it." He hid his smile as he walked away.

He was rather fond of rabbits.

.

* * *

.

Avalon, it seemed, was far too much like her papa. She was quiet. She preferred being read books over watching television. Her hair was always a mess. She saw things that weren't really there.

America sighed as he watched her giggle and clap her hands while staring up into the air. "I don't get it. There's nothing there!"

England glanced up from his book. "What on earth are you going on about now?"

America gestured towards Avalon. "Look! She's giggling like the air is the most fun thing in the world! I hope she doesn't start talking to herself like you do."

England's green eyes widened in delight when he looked over to see what America was talking about. He quickly marked his place in his book, finding the new development in his family much more interesting.

Fairies of various colors fluttered around Avalon, performing acrobatics in the air to keep her entertained. Flying mint bunny was also there, resting on the child's head.

"It seems she's more English than you'd like to believe," England said with pride.

America groaned. "Oh man, this isn't about those fairytale friends of yours, is it?"

"You have an _alien_ living in your basement," England reminded. "If you can have a being from another planet living in your house, I can have _fairy _friends." He sighed. "I don't understand why you can't see them. Even France notices them once I point them out, and he's as impure as can be!"

"You can't see something that doesn't exist."

"Git," England muttered, standing up. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go join Avalon. At least then I can have an intellectual conversation with flying mint bunny."

America's laughter followed him across the room.

.

* * *

.

Mikhail stared at Avalon.

Avalon stared back.

Then, carefully, Mikhail reached out and patted his cousin on the head. When she giggled, he smiled happily and pulled her into a hug.

"I like her," he announced. "She's cute!"

"Cute!" Avalon chirped, repeating what Mikhail said.

Mikhail was more than delighted when she arranged herself in his lap, snuggling up against him. He gently stroked her hair, marveling over how soft it was. At last there was a younger kid who wasn't completely terrified of him. In fact, she seemed to be thoroughly enjoying being near him.

Canada let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he and his brother retreated to the kitchen to talk in peace.

"So what's up, bro? I know you didn't call me up here just so those two can play," America said as he sat down at the kitchen table. His eyes lit up when he saw the plate of cookies sitting right in front of him and swiped a few.

Canada sat down next to his brother. "I got a call from Romano earlier today. The others are starting to find out whether our kids are like us or not."

America paused in the middle of shoving cookies in his mouth. "Humph?"

"Fiore is Sicily. And he said Spain is pretty confident that Carmen is Barcelona."

"So they're cities?" America asked. "I guess that makes better sense than my idea about mini-countries popping up all over the place. So what city is Mikhail? He's Canadian, right? No way is my nephew gonna be Russian!" He smiled at his brother, expecting to get an amused look in response.

Instead, Canada stared at the table, tears pooling in the corner of his eyes as he sniffled.

"Bro?" America asked, his voice lowering in concern. "You okay?"

"T-there was an attack last night. At one of Russia's airports."

America nodded. He remembered hearing something about that on the news. And though he didn't care much for the larger country, he couldn't help but feel a little worried. "Is that why he isn't here?"

"_Oui…_ He wanted to go take care of it himself. But that's not what I'm worried about. It's Mikhail," said Canada.

America gulped, not sure if he liked how the conversation was going.

"He had a nightmare last night. He came into our room screaming and crying about explosions and blood. It took an hour to calm him down enough that he'd sit still and rest. I don't think any of us got sleep after that." Canada paused to meet America's eyes. "He's Moscow. I've thought so for a while now, but after last night I'm sure."

"Canada…" America reached over and laid his hand over his brother's, offering a comforting smile when the other nation looked up at him. "It'll be okay, bro. He's not gonna forget you."

"I know," murmured Canada. "Thank you."

"That's what heroes are for!"

"Papa~" Mikhail slowly wandered into the kitchen holding the hand of Avalon. "Can you make us pancakes? Пожалуйста?"

America winced at the use of Russian, but Canada smiled wryly and stood up. Being around Russia for nearly six years meant he was familiar enough with the larger country's language to construct sentences of his own when necessary, so a single word was no problem to understand.

"Конечно_,_" Canada said, making sure to not look at his brother. He wouldn't be able to resist the urge to laugh if he saw the horrified look that was no doubt plastered across the American's face.

Maybe, just maybe, he was alright with Mikhail being Russia's capital.

.

* * *

.

England relished the peaceful moments of the household. Those moments when Avalon was fast asleep or being entertained by the fairies and flying mint bunny. The moments when America stopped talking and snuggled up against him, glasses half sliding down his nose as he read the book in England's hands.

That wasn't to say he disliked the loud and messy times, which were far more frequent. There was nothing more amusing than a giggling, naked Avalon running away from America after a bath before finally getting caught and wrapped up in a fluffy towel. He was even starting to not mind France's visits as much, as the man's attention was quickly taken up by darling Avalon, who loved being dressed up like a doll. (Something France was happy to take part in. England swore the nation had a new dress for her every time he came over.)

England was, dare he say it, happy.

He had his America by his side, willingly devoted to him, sometimes so greatly that he wanted to kick the younger nation out of the house for a few hours so he wouldn't have his constant presence hovering over him. It was maddeningly unhelpful when he was trying to tidy up the house.

He had a daughter who loved him. Who'd never shouted she hated him. Who greeted him enthusiastically when he returned home from trips overseas or (if they were at his home in England) from a day dealing with his Parliament. Who could see the fairies and flying mint bunny who kept him company through his loneliest days.

However, something still wasn't right. Something nagged at the back of his mind during peaceful moments, interrupting his serenity. So while he relished those peaceful moments, he also dreaded them.

It wasn't until a rainy day in his (_their_) England home that he realized what it was.

A frantic knocking came at the front door around noon. At the time, America was chasing Avalon around the house like a madman, trying to get her to put on her pants, leaving England to answer the door as he shouted advice over his shoulder.

"Igirisu-san," a frantic Japan greeted him at the door, unintentionally slipping into his native tongue. In his arms was a child who appeared to be a few years younger than Avalon, with straight dark hair and large amber-brown eyes.

England gave a start, reminded of another Asian child for a brief moment.

"England-san," repeated Japan, regaining control. "Please, I need you to watch Mamoru for a while. Hong Kong-san went missing and I must help China find him."

"Mamoru?"

A tinge of pink spread across Japan's cheeks. "He's my son. Please, England-san, watch over him for me. Just until we find Hong Kong-san."

England could only nod, not wanting to deny Japan a request when he made so few of them. The last thing he wanted was to discourage the quiet nation from going to him when he needed help, especially when it had nothing to do with national affairs. "Yes, of course. We'd be happy to watch after him, Japan. Perhaps his presence will get Avalon to calm down."

Something that may have been a relieved smile appeared on Japan's face as he shifted Mamoru from his arms and into England's. The child awkwardly clung to the Briton's shirt as if afraid he would be dropped, looking back at his dad fearfully when he noticed him setting down his duffle bag and getting ready to leave.

"It will be okay, Mamoru," Japan said softly, patting his son on the head. "This is my friend England. He will watch you while I am away. Be good for him." Clearing his throat, he stepped back. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, England-san. Please call me if he is any trouble."

After promising the shorter nation he would call him at the slightest hint of trouble, England bid his old friend farewell and waited until he was halfway through the front yard before shutting the door.

"So, you're Mamoru," England murmured, looking down at the Asian child.

The boy yawned and leaned his head against the European's shoulder, curling his tiny fingers into his shirt.

England's expression softened at the sight. "Cute little bugger, aren't you? Just like Aubrey…"

"…and the hero wins again!" America exclaimed, appearing in the entryway with a giggling Avalon in his arms. It seemed he had succeeded in his attempts to dress her, since she was wearing a pair of black pants. "Huh? Who's this, England?"

Avalon's eyes went wide at the sight of a child younger than her in her papa's arms. She'd only seen two others who were around her age, though it was only briefly and she hadn't gotten to see them up close.

"It seems he's Japan's son," England said. "Did you know anything about this?"

America shook his head. "I didn't even know Japan was seeing someone! Who d'ya think it is? Greece maybe? I think France said something about those two hanging out a lot. He doesn't really look like Greece though…" He caught sight of a tag on the duffle bag that was left behind and carefully set down Avalon. He snagged her hand before she could run away, eliciting a pout from his darling daughter. "Y'reckon his name's on here?"

"I suppose it's worth checking," England acknowledged. "Though it wouldn't surprise me in the least if Japan put his own name on there."

America squinted at the symbols, mouthing them as he tried to unpuzzle what was written. It took him a few tries to decipher them, but once he did he lost all urge to tell England who the boy's other parent was. "Mamoru's a cool name, yeah? Hey, lets go take his stuff to the spare room or something. Or maybe Avalon's room? They could be best friends! Just like me and Japan!" He beamed at England, who stared back humorlessly.

"What's his name, America?"

"U-um, you're not gonna like this… Maybe you should sit down? Or give Mamoru to me?"

England narrowed his eyes. _"America._"

The American flinched. "Mamoru Li…" He paused, glancing down at Avalon, who was looking between them in confusion.

"If the next word out of your mouth is 'Honda', you're on the couch for the next week," England threatened.

"Wang," America blurted out. "Mamoru Li Wang."

England felt as though he'd been sucker punched in the gut.

Mamoru was _China's_ son.

_China _had a second son who undoubtedly adored him and wouldn't think of leaving him alone.

_China _had a family who didn't send him curses on a yearly basis. (England's brothers had begun sending them on his "birthday" as gifts rather than whenever they felt like it. Though surprisingly, they'd become significantly less horrific since Avalon was born.)

It wasn't fair, damn it.

"Papa?" Avalon questioned, tugging on his pants leg. "What's wrong? Why are you sad?"

"I-I'm not," England said quickly, ashamed that his daughter was so astute to his emotions. Were all children that way? He couldn't remember Aubrey ever being like that… Then again, the half-Asian was much more subtle about things than his baby girl.

Avalon huffed and hugged his leg. "You're silly, papa. But I love you anyway."

England couldn't help but smile.

Okay, so China had a second son. So what? _He _had a little girl who clearly adored him. A little girl who could see fairies and liked his cooking. And he had America, who hadn't left him alone since the Second World War (which was both a blessing and a curse at times).

He was happy. He couldn't keep dwelling on the past when he had so much to look forward to with his family. With America. With Avalon.

England looked down at Mamoru, thankful that he resembled Japan when he was sleeping.

"England, you okay?" America asked.

The Briton nodded. "Yes. I am." He confidently met his lover's eyes before looking down at Avalon. "Come. Lets go in the sitting room and the two of you can play."

Avalon's face lit up with a smile as she released her papa's leg and tore out of the room.

America groaned softly. "Great. Lemme go make sure she keeps her clothes on while she's getting toys."

Chuckling, England followed his lover.

.

* * *

.

Night fell swiftly with no word from Japan. While England cleaned up from dinner and dessert, America put Avalon and Mamoru to bed and began telling them a story about heroes and damsels in distress and ninja's.

England was drying off one of the plates when he heard a knock at the front door. He carefully set it aside and dried off his hands before walking to the front door. The knocking grew louder before he finally yanked open the door, casting an annoyed look at the fair-haired nation on the other side.

Iceland stared back at him, unbothered by the irritated expression. Clearing his throat, he shifted his weight, pulling an inebriated Hong Kong into view. He stumbled when the Asian threw his arms around his neck, weighing him down.

"Hong Kong, let go," he muttered. "No wonder you never drink."

Hong Kong hiccupped and rested his head on Iceland's shoulder. "I didn' drink tha' much."

Iceland sighed. "I know."

England crossed his arms over his chest, having half a mind to shut the door and go back to cleaning dishes. "Why are you here?"

Hong Kong slid his eyes from Iceland to England and then giggled. "Daddy!" He shouted, releasing his Nordic friend so he could stumble forward and hug his father instead.

"That's why," Iceland deadpanned. "I'll get him in the morning. Don't tell China."

Though not telling China wasn't going to be a problem, leaving Hong Kong in his house for the night was, especially considering the Asian could barely stand up on his own. Before England could pass the seaport back to Iceland, the blue-eyed country turned and quickly walked away without another word.

England stood in the entryway with Hong Kong clinging to him, smelling strongly of alcohol, and wondered how he ended up in such weird situations.

In the end, all he could do was sigh heavily and escort his son to the spare bedroom, where he could hopefully leave the boy and not have to deal with him again until the morning.

"Dad?"

England flinched. He'd barely taken two steps from the bed when he heard the whisper. The tone carried an air of familiarity to it that he could easily hear the next few words echo in his mind.

"_Tell me a story?"_

"Not tonight, Aubrey," he whispered to himself.

"Dad?" The call came again, more insistent. "I…" Golden eyes closed as Hong Kong turned his head towards the opposite wall. "I'm sorry."

Funny, how two little words could convey so much meaning. Though it wasn't so much the words themselves as it was the inflection of his voice, which had become so static over the past few years that it bore close to no likeness to the joyful tones of his youth.

"Get some rest, Aubrey," England said softly. "We can talk in the morning if you'd like."

As he left the room and turned out the lights, England heard one final whisper from his first child.

"我爱你."

.

* * *

End

* * *

.

Translations:

Пожалуйста (Russian) : Please

Конечно (Russian) : Of course.

我爱你 (Chinese) : I love you

* * *

_"Fiore is Sicily. And he said Spain is pretty confident that Carmen is Barcelona."  
"So they're cities?" America asked._

_- _Sicily is one of Italy's islands, not a city. Not that America would know that._  
_

* * *

There. That's the last chapter. Didn't mean to introduce Mamoru in a bonus chapter, but it was kind of fun to. He's two years younger than Avalon.

The other two kids mentioned who are around Avalon's age are Germany and Italy's two youngest kids. (They have 3 by this point. Dafne and Sofia have already been introduced. Their third child is a little more than half a year younger than Avalon.)

Writing drunk Hong Kong was weird.

By the way, the main reason Iceland left Hong Kong at England's was because Denmark harasses him whenever he brings him home. The other reason is because he's hoping Hong Kong and England will talk.


	6. Bonus Chapter 2

**One Day We'll Dance**

Bonus Chapter 2: _Discussion_

Just as he promised, Iceland arrived around eight o'clock the morning after he dropped Hong Kong off at England's house. America answered the door with Avalon and Mamoru by his side.

"Hong Kong's not awake yet," America said, stepping back to let the other nation inside. "England wants to talk to him before he leaves. I think he's making tea right now."

Iceland nodded in understanding as he walked inside. The second he was in the house, Mamoru toddled forward and latched onto his pants. Iceland's expression softened as he bent down and picked up the young Asian. Mamoru smiled and snuggled against him.

"Does China know?" Iceland asked.

America shrugged. "No clue. Japan dropped off Mamoru last night and England made me promise to not tell anyone about Hong Kong. Guess I can understand why… Hey, you want some food? Don't worry, it's not England's cooking."

Though he had a feeling America's cooking wasn't much better. Iceland agreed and joined him in the kitchen for a snack.

.

* * *

.

England closed the door of the spare bedroom just loudly enough to alert Hong Kong to his presence. In one hand was a cup of tea, steam curling into the air enticingly.

Hong Kong blearily looked at the European nation, wincing from the slight sunlight filtering through the curtains. He carefully sat up, nearly giving in and laying back down when a splitting pain in his head overcame him.

"I don't suppose I need to lecture you about drinking," England said, walking over to the bed. He wordlessly held out the cup of tea, daring Hong Kong to turn it away.

The seaport rearranged the pillows so he could prop himself against the headboard. Then he accepted the tea.

"In case you've forgotten, Iceland dropped you off here last night. I believe he's in the kitchen with America right now," England explained.

Hong Kong silently stared into the coffee cup.

England frowned. "Your disappearance has China worried. He and Japan have been searching for you all night. They left Mamoru here for us to watch after him. Or rather, _Japan_ left him here. I doubt China knows." He paused to give his son a chance to speak. "Hong Kong, are you listening to me?"

"I am," Hong Kong said hoarsely. "…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry mum."

England sat down on the edge of the bed, taking care not to jostle Hong Kong. "To be honest, I was a little worried too. It's not like you to leave without telling anyone."

"I just wanted some time alone."

"So you went drinking with Iceland and gave no warning to China that you were leaving," England said rather dryly. "Though I disagree with how quickly he panicked, I think you should have at least left a note or called him."

Hong Kong cast him an annoyed look. "I'm not your little colony anymore. You can't tell me what to do."

"That may be true, but I'm still your father."

Hong Kong rolled his eyes and looked away. "You stopped being my father back in nineteen-ninety-seven when you handed me back to China. It's too late to play the 'upset parent' card."

"What choice did I have? My deal with China expired and, as I recall, you were quite eager to return to him," England said bitterly. "I wasn't about to keep you against your will."

"You never asked."

"Pardon?"

Hong Kong looked back at his father with an unreadable emotion in his narrowed amber eyes. "You never asked me to stay."

"Would it have made a difference?" England asked. "You told me you wanted to leave. No, that you _were_ leaving in a way that made it clear that I had no choice in the matter. So tell me, had I asked, would you have stayed?"

Hong Kong was silent for a long moment. Then, he slowly exhaled and shifted the cup of tea in his hands. "No."

England's temper flared as he abruptly stood and leveled a burning glare at his son. "I can see there's no point in speaking of this further. Drink your tea and get out."

Hong Kong looked startled. "W-wait!"

England ignored him, quickly leaving the room before he could completely lose his cool and start yelling.

Hong Kong struggled with the blankets. Burning tea sloshed over the sides of the cup, dribbling down his arm. He flinched, spilling more of it, until he at last broke free of his blanket prison and stumbled from the bed, fighting back the pain exploding in his head like the firecrackers he played with during his younger days.

The tea cup crashed to the floor, chipping as a crack splintered through the hand-painted flower outlined in red. Amber liquid splashed across the rug, some flowing onto the hardwood floor as the cup tilted and rolled to a stop.

Hong Kong tripped over his feet as he hurried from the room, wanting-needing-his father to understand the truth. To listen to the truth.

"Dad…!" His voice was strained as he clung to the doorframe, unable to take another step. He could see Iceland hovering near the exit to the kitchen, frowning as America shouted something in a panicked tone. Mamoru was in the blond's arms, staring into the kitchen with wide eyes. A girl with light blonde hair danced around them, giggling to herself.

Then England was there in front of him, the emotions in his eyes morphing from anger to concern within seconds.

"Hong Kong-"

The Asian reached out and gripped his father's shoulder, partly to steady himself and partly to get his attention. "I wanted to, but I couldn't. I wasn't going to be the reason you went to war with mum again."

"You… you wanted to stay?" England asked, his voice a shocked whisper. "Why didn't you say so?"

Hong Kong withdrew his hand. "I couldn't. There was nothing you could have done." Gathering what strength he had, he moved past England and nodded to Iceland. He instantly regretted the action and almost retreated back to the bedroom to curl up under the blankets and sleep.

Iceland carefully directed the girl towards America before leaving the kitchen and walking to Hong Kong's side. He offered his silent support as they walked to the front door.

"Hong Kong!" England came to his senses when he heard the front door open. He hurried over so he could see his son before he left. "I-!" He clenched his fists and struggled to compose himself. "I suppose you can come by and visit when you'd like. Or if you need a break from China."

Hong Kong looked back at him blankly for a moment. Then he smiled softly, turned, and left.

.

* * *

END

* * *

.

This is absolutely the final chapter for ODWD. I swear. Anything else I think of for this family will be part of a new one-shot.


End file.
